


scar lines

by sleepyimagineer (ocolotes)



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: F/M, but he aint dead, no fire au, post!fire, thats what im trying to say, what do i even tag this as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4543248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ocolotes/pseuds/sleepyimagineer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>she'd been fascinated with his scars from the moment he came home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	scar lines

**Author's Note:**

> Admittedly I cannot claim for this to be super high quality. It was a late night thought implemented even later at night. It was also written for a friend so, I'm not particularly aiming to please. However, if you enjoy this as much as they did, that's always a huge bonus.

"Do they hurt?"

The question grabs your attention almost immediately, given the silence that had been settled comfortably between the two of you. Despite the large amount of time you'd been apart, it was easy for you two to fit back into the same rhythm you had been in before. You look up, focusing on the smaller figure who had spoken. You know, however, immediately what she's talking about. You blink slowly, before offering a shake of your head and a quiet reply.

"Not anymore."

The answer seems satisfactory enough for her, because once you reply, she looks back down at her work. The question, now given without explanation has set you on edge, but it was how she worked, she didn't give explanations. Not unless she decided that they were necessary. Today must've been different though, because as you find yourself still looking at her, she exhales softly, a rather defeated sound in your mind, and looks back up.

"I knew that, I. Wow, that was stupid." She even rolls her eyes a little, and the gesture has your lips curling in amusement. "Dunno what I was thinking." You shrug ever so slightly, picking up your things and moving to sit across from her at the table she was working at. A quick motion then, a small curl of her lips is present, but gone within seconds.  
"It's not really that big of a deal," You start, shrugging your satchel off your shoulder and onto the floor. "People make mistakes, no matter how silly." She watches you, before scoffing quietly. It's then that you realize how badly you've missed this, being alone with her and just poking fun at each other. It's been longer than two years since you've done that, and the first time in two weeks that you've been reunited that you even got to spend time alone. Humming slightly, however, she moves to tug off her finger less gloves, holding up the back of her hand to you. At first you don't understand, but upon further inspection, you finally become aware of the light lines across the back of her knuckles. You look up at her, as if asking permission. After a slight nod of understanding and acceptance, you reach out, taking her hand in both of yours. You observe the scars on her knuckles, pale and slightly rugged against the smooth skin of the rest of her hand. 

"Kickboxing." She says it suddenly, and your eyebrows lift and you look back up at her. "That's what those are from. Kickboxing. This is from before I realized how stupid it was to not, at the very least, wrap your hands." You look back down, and near absentmindedly slide your thumb across a particularly nasty line. She pauses, and with her, you pause as well. She finally retracts her hand, clearing her throat. Tugging on the sleeves of her jacket, she hums again. Finally she shifts, standing up and pulling the right side of her jacket away. Curling her fingers under the end of her shirt, she pulls it up some, exposing her stomach, and one particularly long line across her side. It was rather jagged, but pale pink and as smooth as any of those on her knuckle had been. You watch in silence, not sure what to say, but after a moment you find yourself curious to ask.  
"What happened?" It's a basic question, and you assume that she was going to tell you anyways, but you couldn't help yourself. Soon enough she drops the edge of her shirt, sitting back down. Setting her elbow on the table, she presses her palm against her chin.

"Biking accident a couple years ago." She catches the concerned look of surprise on your face and flashes a grin, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "It was a lot worse than it looked, apparently. But I'm okay now." She laughs at your horrified expression and you don't know whether to laugh with her or not, so you offer a couple awkward chuckles. You tried. Suddenly it feels as though you've run out of words to say, and it's clear that she has too. After a moment she looks back down at her work and sniffs, pursing her lips. You find yourself looking back down at your own work, not particularly interested in it anymore. It's moments more before either of you say anything else, and it's actually her that beats you to the chase.

"Can. Can I..." She doesn't finish, but she doesn't have to. It's always on the edge of everyone's mind, you can tell by the way they look at you as you walk by. She, however, is the first to ask. You look up again to find her watching you, and you swallow thickly.

"Go ahead." Your voice is quiet, and even with affirmation, she hesitates. Shifting, she pushes to her feet once more, leaning over the table. Her right hand is outstretched, and you jerk back slightly in surprise as her fingers graze your cheekbone, but you accept it and settle back in. She smooths the pads of her fingertips against your cheek, and you close your eye. Her touch is gentle, a surprise against everything and anything you had ever gotten to know about her. Which, you had assumed, was a lot. She runs her fingers delicately over line after line of mangled flesh, and even with as soft as her touch was, the action set you on edge. You knew that she'd been observing you because of it, you had just known. And now here she was, getting to do what many others had probably wished they could do. 

"Do you know why I decided to show you those scars?" She questions, her voice barely above a whisper. And truthfully, you don't. You open your eye to look back at her again, curiously this time. She meets your gaze and pauses, still waiting a response.

"No, but I do hope you're going to tell me?" You reply, and she offers a small lopsided smile. Her fingers continue tracing lines down your cheek and towards your jaw, and you close your eye once more.

"All scars tell a story." She starts, her voice still that of a whisper. "Mine are stories of recklessness, of getting into trouble and starting things. Mine show I'm aggressive." With every new sentence, she finds a new line to trace. "Yours, however..." 

And her hand is gone. You're almost frozen there in curiosity, and you don't open your eye. She's silent, up until the moment that her lips graze against the mangled flesh of your cheek. Your eyebrows shoot up and you're looking around once more, but she's pulled away, offering another small smile. 

"Your scars are a story of bravery, of heroism. Scars are a symbol of character, no matter how big or small. They don't change who you are, nor will they ever." She speaks with a sense of confidence, and you're completely awestruck. All this time and you'd feared the thought of her seeing you, and it was never that she saw you any differently, just as she had before. You barely register pushing up, pressing your lips against hers. You barely register the sharp inhale of surprise that she gives, and you barely register her finally responding, her hand settling on your cheek. It's then that you realize that things were going to be just fine, as long as she was still there with you.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, be on the lookout for three other works I've done recently! They should be up really soon.


End file.
